Mallory looked up from her exam of the
blueprints of the house they were currently building.

“Watch out!” someone shouted.

She tripped over an electrical cord and fell
hard on the unyielding concrete slab. The whole framework of a freestanding
interior wall fell. It crashed within inches of her and spared her added pain.

“How the hell did that fall?” She eyed the
workers. “Where’s the bracing for this wall?”

“Mallory, are you all right?” her
construction foreman and one time boyfriend, Cort yelled, working his way
through the framework of an exterior wall.

“Find out who removed the brace from this
wall,” she ordered him.

“Your father’s here.” He nodded to the pickup
truck parked near her jeep.

“Great,” she groaned when she saw him talking
to one of the workers.

She tried to think how to fight the argument
he’d bring up.

“So, you’ve had another mishap. How did it
happen?”

She took a short, deep breath. His grim face
conveyed all his thoughts. Every aged line with the set of his straight, tight
lips warned her he was going to try to pull her off the job again.

“I don’t know, Dad. The wall had a brace and
someone removed it.” She rolled up the blueprint and nervously tapped it
against the side of her leg.

“This is the third accident in two weeks,
Mallory. Maybe this isn’t where you should be.” He draped an arm over her
shoulder and led her along through doorway gaps of wood until they were
outside. “This is getting serious, cupcake. Let Cort handle this house and you
can run the show on another.”

“This is my project. I’ve waited years for
you to let me finally be the one in charge instead of him. I own half of this
business and I have an equal say. I’m not your twelve year old little cupcake
any more, I’m twenty-four.”

“I know you can handle the actual job and the
problems. It’s this particular one that worries me with the threats, and the
environmentalist group being involved.”

“I don't know why the law can’t do anything
about those activists. If you ask me, Brady Harwood needs to spend a little
time dealing with this situation himself.”

“The police have all the information,” a man
said from behind her. “There’s no proof the environmental group is behind the
problems here.”

Mallory turned to see the body attached to
the sexy deep voice. He reached a hand passed her to her father. She picked up
a hint of his cologne, a spicy musk, very appealing.

“No problem. A small construction mistake by
a worker, that’s all. It’s been taken care of. This is my daughter, Mallory. She’s
in charge of your project.”

“Miss Parker.” He offered his hand and a
smile. “I’m Brady Harwood.”

Mallory slid her fingers across his warm
palm. He didn’t seem to care she stared too long, and she didn’t mind the time
he took to rub a caress with his thumb over the back of her hand. Electrical
shocks rode up her arm making the chambray shirt she wore feel even hotter than
she’d thought earlier.

“A lot has been done. I’m impressed. If I’m
not interrupting, maybe you could give me a tour, Miss Parker?” he asked.

“Yes. Of course.”

Mallory took her time going through the
different planned rooms and reminding him what they were.

“I’m not sure I like where the laundry room
is located,” he commented as they went through a kitchen area and another
utility room before coming to where the laundry facilities would be.

“It’s exactly where it’s shown on the
blueprint.” She started to unfurl the paper.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. I guess I just
didn’t pay much attention to the layout. My fiancé was pretty much in charge. Can
it be changed?” He put his hand on the edge of the blueprint and leaned against
her back to look over her shoulder.

A tremor turned up every hair follicle on her
skin. She wondered if her deodorant and mouthwash were still working.

“Your architect could make the alteration.” She
inhaled the intoxicating scent of his cologne. “If you’d like, I could call him
and see what can be done.”

“No. That’s all right. I don’t want to get
into a time consuming battle with him.”

“I could make an addition of a small stackable
washer/dryer unit in this linen closet.” She flipped the page over and pointed
to the hall in the second level.

“Near the master bedroom?” His finger
followed the hall lines to the doorway.

“Too close? We could—” She held her breath as
he moved closer.

“Not close enough for me.”

The heat of him swept around her.

“Sitting it right in the bedroom would be
ideal,” he continued. “But that wouldn’t be so attractive. I like your idea. Do
it.”

She nodded, afraid her voice might squeak.

He put a hand on the back of her shoulder. “To
have such a quick fix makes me think you’ve already studied this plan.”

“Yes. Sort of a habit with me, to find what I
think are flaws. I don’t mean that your design is bad. It’s little things like
the washer and dryer I notice. It comes from living alone and doing for myself,
I suppose. I just couldn’t imagine having to go that far to wash my clothes and
then carry them back upstairs.”

“Precisely my problem with that laundry room.
I suppose Jenna didn’t consider it because she’d have a maid.” He looked
through the frame of where windows would give a view of the gulf. “Do you have
any other suggestions for changes you’d make?”

“I do, but some would cost a considerable
amount to make now that we’ve already framed the lower half of the house and
are working on the second story.”

“I’d still like to hear them. How about over
dinner tonight at my condo?”

“Any changes might be better for you to
visualize from here, instead of on a piece of paper. Besides, don’t you think
you should ask your fiancé first?” She tried not to let him catch her looking
at him, but he seemed to be doing his own share of observing her.

“I’m sorry, did I not mention Jenna is my
ex-fiancé? We’ve gone our separate ways. Seems I wasn’t as in love with her as
much as I thought.”

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you,”
she said as sincerely as possible without meaning it. “I suppose we could just
discuss the changes I would make first and if any sound like they’d interest
you, we could go over them here.”

“Then my place for dinner?”

“An early one. I do have to show up here at
seven tomorrow morning.”

“Five o’clock?
I could come pick you up, if you’d like.” He ran a hand over his blond,
sun-bleached hair. The wavy locks obeyed his positioning of them.

“I can manage to drive myself, Mr. Harwood.”

“It’s Brady.” He held his cell phone out to
her. “Put you number in and I’ll text you my address.”

She typed her name and the number of her cell
into the boxes he had opened in his contact list, and then handed the cell back
to him.

“I suppose I should go see about cleaning up
my condo. No telling where I’ve left my dirty clothes scattered.” He chuckled.
“I’ll see you later.”